


The City Comes Alive

by AislingSiobhan



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU Civil War, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Thoughts, Depression, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, winter soldier recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7988353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingSiobhan/pseuds/AislingSiobhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy had been sunny. It still was, Tony had promised. He'd also promised to take him, soon, someday. </p><p>Bucky thought about snow, and then sand, wondered what was worse - wide awake with his arm covered in white and red or waking up to a battery in his chest choking on iron. </p><p>Italy would be better than both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The City Comes Alive

**The City Comes Alive**

**Disclaimer** : The Avengers, Tony, Loki, etc belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, et co. I make no money from this and own nothing, don’t sue.  
**Summary** : [Bucky/Tony] Italy had been sunny. It still was, Tony had promised. He'd also promised to take him, soon, someday. Bucky thought about snow, and then sand, wondered what was worse - wide awake with his arm covered in white and red or waking up to a battery in his chest choking on iron. Italy would be better than both.  
**Warnings** : Bucky/Tony. Post-Avengers. AU Civil War. Winter soldier recovery. Dark thoughts. Depression (implied). Bucky feels.  
**Rating** : PG15?  
**Notes** : Listen to Nothing More Than A Memory by Paul Carrack and All I Ever Wanted by Brian Melo. 

_XXX_

The city comes alive  
As soon as you walk through the door  
Another sleepless night  
But i don't want to sleep anymore

 _XXX_

**Chapter 1/1**  
**Words** 1,900  
The rain pattered lightly against the window. It wasn't heavy, or hard, but Bucky could feel it vibrating where he pressed his cheek against the glass. He could almost hear it, like little footsteps running up the stairs, and the wind was a soft whisper of noise instead of the howl he knew it should be. Tony's penthouse was soundproofed.

The engineer had gone to a SI shareholders meeting, and without his presence everything was too much and too little all at once - too silent, too still, Bucky could hear himself think and he didn't want to. He pressed harder against the glass, wondering if it was worth going out onto the landing pad, curling up in the rain and waiting for Tony to come home. The supersoldier serum, while a cheap knockoff of Steve's, was still enough to prevent him from getting sick. But it didn't keep him warm, and Bucky hated the cold. 

He could feel it now, chills up his spine, the wind at the base of his neck caressing his hair, his cheeks, eyelashes freezing together behind his google, snot sticking his mask to his nose and upper lip, wet, but not wet as it froze - there was snow in his boots! He couldn't feel his toes, but there were patches of red in front of him and behind him, and those patches were warm enough to melt the snow. Bucky wondered if it was worth pulling off his gloves to run his fingers through the warm snow - but taking off his gloves would make him colder, wouldn't it? If he got frostbite, his handler would be angry. And he wasn't supposed to let go of the body... 

His fingers flexed, closing around his knees as he tugged them to his chest. Memory, memory, nothing more than a memory. He tried to speak, because saying it in his head wasn't enough - wasn't loud, wasn't real. 

"Heating," he croaked instead, voice hoarse and throat tight. He'd screamed himself awake an hour ago, crawled into the shower to wash off the blood that only he could see before forcing himself to fit into a pair of Tony's sweats and a t-shirt (comfy, familiar and safe, his, his, where was he). The rain was noise, the rain was different - it never rained in Russia (at least not that he could remember, not where he was kept). 

"Temperature at 86 degrees fahrenheit," JARVIS responded. Bucky flinched, fingers clawing at his knees momentarily until he managed to convince his heart not to beat out of his chest. 

"Thanks," he murmured. 

It was still dark outside. Early winter, dim sunlight but the streetlights were mostly turned off by now. No snow though, fortunately. The snow brought back memories he'd rather not remember. Like falling, rolling through it, cold in his trousers and up the sleeves of his jacket, in his mouth and eyes and ears, flecks of it stuck to his hair as blood spread out around him like a lopsided halo (covering the left side of his body where his arm used to be, mangled and bits of it missing, and now all of it gone). They dragged him through it, long fingers tight around his right wrist, pulling him, as he kicked and cried - one-armed snow angels stained red in his wake. Voice causing avalanches miles and miles away as Steve cried for him, unheard, unanswered, because he was supposed to be dead - he was supposed to be dead, should have died, wanted to die. No one came to save him and they cut what was left of his arm off as he screamed, leather shoved between his teeth, tears frozen to his cheeks keeping his eyelids glued shut, as they grafted onto his ribs and his sternum as the snow fell through the cracks in the roof and the holes where the windows had been bombed out months ago. 

He didn't want any snow this year. 

Or any year.

Bucky missed the sun. Italy had been sunny. It still was, Tony had promised. He'd also promised to take him, soon, someday. They'd go together and Bucky could point out all the places he'd once had a villager buy him a pint - supporting the American troops the only way civilians could. The places he'd fought, kissed dames and a couple fellas when they looked his way. Where Steve had come to rescue him (the first time he'd thought Bucky was dead). But there was snow there too, wasn't there? Maybe he'd stick to Milan or Venice or Rome - somewhere warm, and blue, and loud. Where nothing and no one were ever still or quiet, where music played through the night and the lights in the streets stayed lit up bright and the sun beat down on them and turned them all brown, or orange, or lobster red (like Steve). 

Bucky thought he might like that. He tried to think about it now, throwing coins in the Trevi Fountain, making wishes while holding Tony's hand - kissing on the Rialto bridge - pressing him up against the walls of Vatican City, sinning. Wouldn't that be something? Far better than thinking of cold and snow and red, dripping all over his skin and the chill that had stained him to his bones. 

"How long?" He asked, as he dragged himself out of his thoughts. He closed his eyes, rubbed his eyelids, pushing the images away - out of sight, out of mind, even if he had imaged them in the first place. 

"Sir has been gone for two hours and seventeen minutes. He is expected to arrive at the Tower in approximately twelve minutes, traffic dependant."

Bucky nodded, one sharp movement of his head, without taking his face off of the glass. He stared into the street below him, everything tiny even to his enhanced eyesight. Was that Tony, he wondered, squinting at a fast moving car, or was that him, as a man in a suit walked towards the front door surrounded by other men in suits? 

Bucky thought about snow, and then sand, wondered what was worse - wide awake with his arm covered in white and red or waking up to a battery in his chest choking on iron. Italy would be better than both, he decided, resolute as Tony walked out of the lift. 

His eyes widened as they caught sight of Bucky, curled against the window, limbs trembling faintly despite the heat in the room. Blue eyes watched as Tony shed his jacket, then his tie; draping them both over the back of the couch as he passed. Shoes were toed off and kicked away as he walked towards the bar. The coffee machine switched on before Tony reached it, and he flashed a smile at the camera in the corner of the room in thanks. Bucky nodded his head before Tony could ask, and the engineer set out two cups for coffee. 

"You sure you don't wanna go back to sleep? I'll nap with you?"

"I don't want to sleep anymore," Bucky whispered. The machine hummed, water bubbling and steam hissing from the spout as milk dripped into the cup; it whistled just before the switch clicked off, coffee taking the place of the milk. Tony twisted the mugs under the spout, swapping them easily one handed as he routed in a drawer with the other. The sweetener smelt odd as Tony tore the packet open, ripping loudly, the noise mixing with the symphony of other sounds that seemed to follow Tony around. He hummed under his breath, mumbled some of the words in Italian, some in French, getting some of the words completely wrong. He kicked at the counter softly as he stirred the sweetener into Bucky's coffee, spoon clinking with every twist of his wrist. 

It was too much and too little all at once - noise and motion, but Bucky had missed the sound of Tony's voice, the feel of his arms, the scent of his skin. The soldier slipped silently off of the window ledge, face still chilled from the glass, but he rubbed at it with his flesh hand as he moved closer to his lover. Back to chest, Bucky wrapped his arms around Tony - one at the waist and one around his throat, reaching for his mug and sipping at it quickly before resting his chin on Tony's right shoulder. The mug was warm against his skin, and Tony was almost warm enough for his metal fingers to feel where they snuck under his shirt and into his trousers, resting just under his navel. 

"Weather's clearing up," Tony noted off-hand. He stirred real sugar into his own coffee, one spoon after another, the sign of a meeting that hadn't gone to plan. 

Bucky turned his head to glance at the window. The rain had eased off, little droplets running down the glass like tears that someone had forgotten to wipe away, but no new drops joined them. The sun peeked hesitantly out from behind a cluster of light grey clouds and the further away they stretched across the sky, the whiter they became, surrounded by bright blue. Below them, horns honked and cabbies shouted at other drivers and though Bucky couldn't hear any of it he knew the city was awake now. He could imagine it: Tony stuck in traffic, moaning to Happy about pedestrians and yellow cabs and commuting to Queens (even though he wasn't). People walking with coffees, pastries, salads. Lovers holding hands and colleagues trading off folders, boxes and files for the privilege of pushing the traffic light buttons and holding doors open. 

Bucky had been awake for hours, but it felt like he had been sleeping still. Trapped in a waking nightmare, gray instead of red - screams silent for once even when he knew they were still there. He was awake now, like the city. Bright, alive. 

Tony made him feel that way, just by being there, by coming home. The sight of him, the sounds he made (he was still humming and Bucky found himself unconsciously humming along), how he felt and smelt and moaned at the taste of coffee on his tongue - everything about him! It made Bucky grateful that he hadn't died falling off of that train, regardless of what else had happened since. He was alive. 

He still had his demons, but he was working on those. Maybe he'd go to Italy in the summer, check out the old prison camp when it was sunny and warm (when there was no chance of snow) and he'd be happy he'd survived. Maybe, in a year or two, when he was braver, better, he'd go to the Alps, maybe he'd ski. Just, not down a ravine this time. It'd be like closure, something else to be thankful for - the chance to replace one bad memory with a good one. He'd have Tony with him, maybe Steve, (possibly Sam); he'd be with friends, people who cared about him and who he cared about, and he'd be relieved he had survived the fall, survived Hydra - had been _strong_ enough to survive Hydra - happy to be alive. Happy to have met these people. Soon, perhaps. But for now? 

Tony made him happy. 

Most days, that was enough to avoid another sleepless night. 

**The End**

Celebrating having finished my Frostiron Bang fic a reasonable amount of time before the submission date by writing another (much shorter) fic.  
Hope you like it? :)


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